


Black Baccara

by Yamielsun



Category: Saint Seiya, 聖闘士星矢: 冥王神話 | Saint Seiya: The Lost Canvas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind the warnings, Physically Mialba Spiritually Shialba, Quasi-Explicit Rape, Rape Aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23016853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamielsun/pseuds/Yamielsun
Summary: Albafica realizes his touch is not poisonous in the one circumstance in which he'd wish it was.
Relationships: Aries Shion/Pisces Albafica, Griffon Minos/Pisces Albafica
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	Black Baccara

**Author's Note:**

> I finally get to use the dead dove tag so that’s one thing off my bucket list.

The sweet smell of roses was almost intoxicating.

They were slightly cool against his bare skin, and damp with dew. Albafica could see them out of the corner of his eyes in every direction, could feel the hidden thorns of them digging at his back.

The roses were a frame for the picture he made: the soft sinew of carefully-sculpted muscle under soft fair skin, interrupted with little constellations of freckles that only served to highlight strategic places.

The poison, both of the flowers and him, not even an afterthought.

He was posed in just the right way to highlight every curve of his body, he knew. The man just above wasn’t shy in his admiration of his physical beauty.

He couldn’t be physically sick, but he wanted to.

The spectre had only left him enough control to keep breathing. Even closing his eyes had him straining.

So he looked on.

Rough, calloused hands cupped Albafica’s face and tilted it upwards, leaving him no option but to look at the spectre’s face. Griffon Minos was smiling, and as he softly, tenderly ran his thumb up and down Albafica’s cheekbones, Albafica couldn’t help but shudder.

“You really are a beautiful man,” he said. “I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

To his disgust, Minos wasn’t rough. He treated him gently. Delicately, like he was made of spun glass and he was afraid of dropping him and breaking him to pieces.  
He thought he could have handled violence better.

Instead, he was treated carefully, like a beloved plaything; Sweet caresses and soft kisses, and his body — so touch-starved it hurt— lapped up the attention and reacted readily. He wanted to scream.

Had he been anyone else — _anyone else_ — the first scratch of the royal demon roses on his back would have been fatal. By the time Minos had finished placing his hand this way, or bending his knee that way, he would have been long dead.

Albafica couldn’t help but wonder with some sense of detachment — as if this was happening to someone else entirely — if being dead would have been preferable in some way. If his tenure as the guardian of the Pisces temple, with all it’s ups and downs, was worth ending up like this.

As the spectre trailed burning, passionate kisses down his neck — and ignoring the sounds Albafica himself was making, ignoring them, _ignoring them_ — he decided it was. He would have done everything over again even if he knew this was coming. Protecting Athena’s sanctuary, protecting the small villages close by, protecting the world.

Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have been quite so adamant in keeping his distance from those he cared about. Clearly his body — his touch, his skin — wasn’t quite as dangerous as he had believed. He thought of little Agasha, of Manigoldo…

Minos bit his nipple and he moaned out loud.

He thought of Shion.

“Oh no, no! Come back here, hey.” He was rudely called back to reality by a pinch on his side hard enough to bruise.

Minos wasn’t going to let him just zone out — that would have been too big a kindness. As soon as Albafica started to get into his own head again, he would talk to him, pinch him, do anything in his — significant — power to get Albafica’s attention and _keep it_.

This had the unfortunate side effect of enhancing everything.

Their moans, their sighs, the rustle of the flowers as Minos moved himself and moved him; the thorns digging on his back; the smell of roses, of sweat and sex and Minos’ own breath as he nibbled Albafica’s lips. It was too much and so, so fast and now he didn’t even have the luxury of pretending this was happening to someone else. Albafica cried out in between rushed breaths as Minos’ teeth found the tender skin of his inner thigh, worrying at it — never hard enough to break skin, Albafica was never so lucky — before the specter sucked a bruise into his skin. And then another. And another.

It was a rose garden, a constellation of red, circular bruises going all the way from one inner thigh to the other — completely bypassing where he ached the most, where he was positively, shamefully dripping with arousal.

His eyes blurred with unshed tears the moment Minos took him in his mouth: physical pleasure seized from him, ripped out of his body so easily like it was Minos’ for the taking. The strong, thin thread of the specter’s special technique making sure it was.

But how was he doing it? He was… sucking him off. Albafica’s fluids were going into his mouth and down his throat and _it should be killing him_— it should be killing him but _it wasn’t_.

And wasn’t that _hilarious?_ All his life avoiding this sort of situation from fear of killing any partner. And it was unnecessary. And he finds out _like this_.

He let out a giggle with more than a touch of hysteria as tears finally fell down his cheeks, through his neck and into his hair.

Minos got off his dick with an obscene sucking sound and leered at him, openly amused.

Albafica looked at him: red lips stained with both spit and precum, silver hair stuck with sweat to his forehead, deep violet eyes looking at him intently. He noticed, however, that the specter hadn’t removed anything beyond his helmet, surplice covering him from the neck down. He was being careful of the roses.

As he should.

“Something funny, sweetheart?”

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. He did nothing but tremble slightly at Minos’ hot breath over his cock, that slightly unhinged grimace still pasted on his face.

“Aw, don’t be like that!” the specter continued, clearly not expecting an answer. He raised a hand to wipe Albafica’s tears from his face. “You’re way too beautiful to cry.”

Albafica had never been overly concerned with his own appearance, but this man seemed downright obsessed with his looks and it made him regret every time he decided on basic hygiene. Beautiful, the spectre called him - and he was seriously starting to hate that word.

“No matter. You look stunning when crying, too,” the man continued, caressing Albafica’s cheekbone with his thumb, as if reassuring him.

Then Minos leaned forward and kissed him. Sweetly. Delicately.

Albafica wanted to be sick.

Minos was a master puppeteer, an expert in the human body; it didn’t take him long at all to have Albafica writhing beneath him despite himself. Minos did as he pleased with him — sucked him, stuck his long fingers in him, bent him like a doll. He even seemed to contemplate taking off parts of his armor at one point, and Albafica wasn’t sure if he was glad he didn’t, or if he was disappointed the specter still had some sense of self-preservation left.

His sense of time was lost. After gods-knew how many forceful, unwilling orgasms, he could only guess at time by the way the sun had started to hide behind his attacker’s body, the shadows elongating beneath them both.

And then, it was finally over.

Minos’ made a choking sound and opened his eyes wide, his face deathly pale. A mouthful of blood found its way to the grass besides Albafica’s face. Stray droplets of it reached his cheeks, almost scalding.

He looked incredulous, disbelieving. Albafica had a tired, but triumphant little smile on his face, without even the energy to be offended at Minos’ obvious surprise.

He had won.

“...You!”

The specter sat on his haunches and brought a trembling hand to the back of his neck: a single, white rose was stuck to it by the stem, its color quickly turning red. He coughed, splattering his surplice with droplets of blood, and yanked the rose off his neck by it’s stem, uncaring of the thorns digging into his palm.

But the damage was done: he was already dead.

“...You little bitch,” he whispered, strength drained - and with that, he slumped over, weight heavy over Albafica’s naked body. He would never wake up again.

In the middle of the garden, surrounded by his demon roses and the remains of Griffon Minos’ specters, and underneath the dead Noble Star himself, the Pisces Saint Albafica finally let himself cry over his pyrrhic victory.

______________

Shion found him after the sun had set, as put together as he could be under the circumstances.

His hair was greasy and knotted with a smattering of leaves, face sticky with sweat and tears, his eyes badly swollen and he hadn’t even bothered to remove the dried blood from his face. He had certainly looked better.

But he was wearing his cloth and standing. He wasn’t even trembling anymore.

It was fine.

He was standing over the corpse of one Griffon Minos, its limbs twisted in unnatural angles like a puppet with cut strings. There were bushes of poisonous red roses in suspiciously human shapes scattered all around the clearing. Shion knew enough to know what it meant.

Albafica continued to stare, unblinking, at the broken body of the late specter at his feet.

He startled badly when Shion called to him and composed himself quickly, but not quick enough for his liking. He immediately knew Shion was clued in that something wasn’t quite right, Albafica was painfully aware of the glances the Aries saint was giving him — looking for injuries, he supposed — and was just as aware he would find nothing.

Shion, visibly uncomfortable with the silence, opted for updating Albafica on what had happened out of the garden.

Some of the lesser specters had caused a couple of skirmishes in the outskirts of the village close by, but thanks to Albafica keeping the worst of them at the entrance of the sanctuary, Shion and Dohko had disposed of them easily enough.

“It was all thanks to you,” Shion smiled, and it was pure and bright and clean and it almost hurt to look at. “As expected of the Pisces saint, taking down one of Hades’s judges on your own.”

Albafica supposed he wasn’t wrong, but he knew Shion was picturing something a lot less humiliating than what actually went down. He could still feel covetous hands, lips and teeth underneath his cloth. Filthy. Dirty.

He could feel his attention slipping. It was getting harder and harder to keep up with what the Aries saint was saying, whatever praise Shion was heaping on him went mostly unheard as Albafica stopped dead on his tracks. His hands were shaking again.

Why couldn’t he stop shaking?

“Albafica?” Shion placed his hands on Albafica’s shoulders, startling him. When did he get so close?

Albafica’s first instinct was to bat Shion’s hands away from him, but as he remembered — remembered how _futile_ it all was — changed his mind halfway and ended up doing a sort of jerky, aborted movement of his hands.

“Albafica, what’s wrong?” Shion’s warm brown eyes found his, brows furrowed, and Albafica was mortified to find the obvious concern was the last straw for his fragile psyche.

He crumbled. Half a step forward and he was in Shion’s arms, sobbing. The Aries saint, visibly confused, flailed a bit before finally settling into an awkward hold around Albafica’s shoulders.

Shion’s touch was everything Minos’ wasn’t: awkward and hesitant; separated by the bulk of both their cloths and surrounded by the familiar cosmo of one of the few Albafica would call a friend.

Those differences made possible for Albafica to stay in the present — they served to ground him in reality when all his traitorous mind wanted to do was go back to that terrible place. It was Shion’s touch, Shion’s smell, Shion’s arms around him as he let himself be comforted like a child for the first time since before his master died.

And Shion — sweet, caring Shion. He asked for nothing he couldn’t give. He questioned nothing. He only knew a friend needed him and did as he always did.

Albafica knew he’d have to explain eventually; his tears, the sudden physical closeness, everything. He’d have to come to terms with what happened in the clearing. He’d have to pick up the pieces of himself and take the time to heal. For now, he’ll steal this moment. He’ll take what Shion was offering, these few minutes of comfort, and he’d keep the memory close —save it in his heart — and he’ll deal.

They had a war to win.

**Author's Note:**

> The Black Baccara is the closest we have at the moment to a true black rose (it’s very much dark red though), and it symbolizes hatred and grief.


End file.
